


Meant To Be

by guitarnadkitchenknives



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I might have bitten off more than I can chew, Post season finale, That sucked, here goes nothing, slowburn probably, the whole season sucked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18916981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guitarnadkitchenknives/pseuds/guitarnadkitchenknives
Summary: The Long Night is over and Westeros finally gains peace. Only, not everything is as it seems...





	1. Chapter 1

**Jon Snow**

He remained silent his entire ride back to Castle Black. It was as if he was arriving there for the first time, back when he was barely a man. He had been full of pride, passion, and the desire to make a name for himself in a place that offered a blank slate. Where no one would see him as a bastard but rather as a brother.

His hopes had been quickly crushed to bits when he realized that Night’s Watch was full of thieves, rapists, and murderers. Few decent men amongst the criminals had not been trained at all, fighting as those who had only seen fights in the streets.

How arrogant he had been, when he was clearly the best among them. He was so certain that he would outlast them all, predicting that most would not last a single day in battle against the wildlings who were sure to invade the Wall in the near future. He was right, of course, as he was one of the only few remaining Brothers that had survived the Night King’s invasion. Being correct brought no satisfaction and left only a bitter taste in his mouth.

_All good that I did surviving,_ Jon thought bitterly. To be honest, he was not entirely sure how or why he was still alive, utterly baffled that Drogon had left him alive, confused that Grey Worm and Yara Greyjoy had not fought harder for his execution. While his siblings were grateful for the compromise that was reached to make him take the Black yet again, he was not sure if he even deserved even this bit of small mercy.

_Queenslayer and a kinslayer, I am. What would my father think?_

His father. . . Ned Stark would no doubt be disappointed, yet it was not the thought of his uncle – whom he could not help but think of as his father – that brought him chills. While Jon did not know Rhaegar Targaryen, he was certain that had he gotten the chance to know Daenerys, he would have loved her more than anything in this world. For him to discover that his son had murdered his sister. . . 

_Gods must have cursed me since birth, for every woman I love ends up dead, and I somehow play a part in it._

But could he have done anything differently? He still remembered the aftermath of the battle, his senses filled with the smell of burnt corpses and the sounds of thousands crying in agony as dragonfire rained down on them. He could see a little child, no older than six name days, weeping next to his mother’s unrecognizable charred carcass. Could he have stood beside Daenerys as his queen while she murdered millions to bring the world that she envisioned? Would her conquest have continued, as Tyrion claimed, or would she have been content ruling the seven kingdoms? Would his family have been safe, with the bridge between them and Daenerys already burnt to ashes? Would –

“Open the gates!”

The squeaking sound of the gates to Castle Black jarred him out of his thoughts. Jon looked up to see a red bearded man smiling at him, making his way down the stairs. He offered a tentative smile and got off his horse, resigning himself to a suffocating hug from his friend.

“I received a raven saying you were coming back. I thought you were supposed to be the king of all the southerners now?” Tormund asked after pulling back from his hug.

“I didn’t want it. I never have” The response was automatic now, as if it was engraved in his mind as an answer anytime anyone asked about the bloody throne.

“Well, good for you, I suppose. You can join us freefolk in the north now.”

“I’m supposed to be here so that I can serve my sentence, not start a new life.”

“Fuck that,” Tormund spat. “You saved all of our lives, Jon Snow, and I’m not about to let you wallow in your misery because of what happened. Isn’t your sister – or is it your cousin? – the queen in Winterfell now? Who cares what you do here? Get drunk, fuck some girls, and live. No one’s gonna tell anyone what you do.”

“Tormund,” Jon sighed into his hands. “I must pay for what I did.”

“Fuckin’ crow,” Tormund grumbled. “You’ll come with us. Mark my words.”

Jon turned away from his friend to see Ghost staring back at him. His red eyes pierced his heart and for the first time, he felt nervous in front of his direwolf. Back in Winterfell, he barely had time to interact with Ghost as he drowned in duties to make sure the castle was manned properly.

_Is that really true? Or were you simply too busy wallowing about your identity to spend time with your closest companion?_

Jon flinched at the thought. He hesitantly reached out for Ghost, his hands shaking slightly in a mixture of dread and anticipation. Ghost stared blankly at him for a few seconds, then let out a soft whine and leaned into his touch. For the first time since leaving King’s Landing, Jon broke into a wide smile, and felt genuinely happy.

“See,” Tormund said, “even your wolf wants you to be happy here. It’s where you’re meant to be.”

Where you are meant to be. Hadn’t Bran also said something similar to that? Maybe Tormund was right. Maybe he was put here so that he could be finally be free of all the duties that burdened him and live the life that he wanted.

Tormund saw his victory in front of him and snatched it. “Let’s go and get drunk. We have the good stuff now, not some prissy weak drinks that you southerners drink.” He guffawed and walked towards the castle. Jon followed, smiling.

\-----

Jon was drunk. Very drunk.

The room was spinning in front of him, and he felt the heat coursing through every inch of his skin. Even at Castle Black, the northern most part of the kingdom, he felt too hot. He heard himself laughing and talking, although he wasn’t quite sure what he was laughing at or what he was talking about. He slowly got up from his seat, only to stumble and fall down to his seat again. Tormund laughed and helped him up. It was still a struggle to move across the room, but he did so at a reasonable pace with his friend helping him. He was about to leave the room to retire for the night when he heard the talk around him.

_“I’m really glad that I was left in the north instead of being called down to fight for some mad Targaryen queen. . . heard that she burnt the entire King’s Landing down.”_

_“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have fucked her once. I wonder if she would have been just as mad in her bed as she was at King’s Landing.”_

_“She probably would have tied you up and burnt you while getting herself off.”_

Jon froze. The men sitting near him did not notice and continued to talk. Tormund felt him tense and tried to stop him, but Jon had already lunged at the table and thrown himself onto one of the men. The table erupted into chaos and those around pulled the two of them apart, Jon thrashing and snarling like a wolf. He freed himself only to be held back by Tormund, who had stepped in between them.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll fuckin’ slice your head off!” Jon roared, blinded by rage. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that!”

“Well, I’m not the one who killed her, Jon Snow, so it seems like whatever I say is much less than what you did!” The man spat back. 

The room had gone silent. Jon swallowed, trying to temper his rage. His head was ringing from the impact he took while tackling the man down, but at the same time, it felt as if a fog in his head had been lifted. “I wouldn’t have had to if you fuckers supported her from the beginning! If you cowards had shown her the respect she deserved after saving all of our cunts against the Night King, she wouldn’t have gone mad and I wouldn’t have had to kill her! Fuck all of you ungrateful cunts! Fuck all of you cowards! _Fuck all of you in the North!_ ”

People stared at him in shock. Even his opponent – whose name he didn’t even know – dropped his jaw in disbelief. Then the room erupted once again in chaos, with the northern men defending themselves and slinging insults at Jon while wildlings joined to side with Jon in insulting them back. Jon, however, went silent with shock over what he had said. Had he meant what he said, or was it simply a misguided desire to protect his memory of Daenerys? He internally scoffed. He had no right to that desire. As the man in front of him said, he had killed her after all. At the same time, he felt a strange sense of relief that he had gotten everything he wanted to say ever since the Battle of Winterfell out into the open.

Why hadn’t he said this earlier? 

Why couldn’t he voice his thoughts when it would have mattered?

When . . . it would have actually helped Daenerys?

Jon brushed off the hands holding him back and quickly left the room, not being able to stand being in a crowd anymore. It was difficult to breathe, to think. Tears flooded the back of his eyes as he was reminded of all the things that he could have done differently to prevent her from going mad. Would it have made a difference? He would never know, but he knew that he hadn’t even tried. 

And I claim to have loved her, to love her. _I am a fool, a fool that deserves eternity in seven hells._

Jon eventually reached his room and stumbled onto his bed. For the first time since he could remember, he cried himself to sleep. 

\-----

_He was drifting in through the snow, following a strange urge to go beyond the wall. The structure held high around him while he passed through the ruins that the Night King had created using Viserion. It was his first time seeing the ruins in person, but he knew instinctively that this was the way that the Night King had passed the Wall._

_As he stepped past the wall, he felt a sudden surge of wind calling him back, back to the south of the wall, to Winterfell, and all the way to King’s Landing. He heard Sansa, Arya, and even Tyrion all calling him – no – begging him to return, saying that he was walking towards his death. His body seized with fear, his mind reminded of being stabbed multiple times by his Brothers and the immense pain that spread through his body as he felt his heart bleed out._

_Would death be so bad, though? He might be given a chance to see Daenerys again, to beg – no – to grovel at her feet for forgiveness. If he could see her eyes lit with life once more. . ._

_But he knew there was nothing but darkness after death._

_It would be nothing less than he deserved, though. So he treaded through the snow, to the unknown._

\-----

Jon slowly came to his senses, his head still ringing because of the copious amount of alcohol he had yesterday. It was a surprise that he had not vomited once throughout the night. He found himself still dressed in his leather tunic and trousers and chuckled mindlessly at the mess that he was. It would most definitely be awkward to face the men he had publicly insulted and cursed yesterday, but he knew he had meant what he said. He would not apologize for it.

A loud banging on his door caused him to wince in pain, breaking him from his reverie. It was Tormund, carrying a letter sent by raven from Winterfell. _Curious, thought Jon, I haven’t been here for a single day and Sansa sends me a raven._

 

_Dear Jon,_

_I hope you have had safe travels to Castle Black. I know how difficult the past few weeks have been for you, but I want you to know that I am still here for you. Since those who are calling for your blood are either gone or leagues away, I was hoping that you would come back to Winterfell, to our home. We would have to be a bit discreet and you may need to hide any time an official envoy from the rest of the six kingdoms come, but you deserve much better than to rot away at Castle Black for all of your life. Winterfell is our home. It is where you’re meant to be._

_Your sister,  
Sansa._

 

“Well,” Tormund spoke. “What does it say?”

“She. . . wants me to come back home.” Jon choked out. To this day, he was still not used to Sansa showing him affection. Despite all that they had gone through the past few months, it still came as a surprise whenever she would refer to him as proper family. “She says I’m meant to be at Winterfell.”

“Hmph. I agree with her. Go back to your home, Snow. It’ll be good for you.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t you just tell me yesterday that I was meant to be here with you? Casting me out that quickly, eh?” Jon poked Tormund affectionately on the ribs. 

“Did I say something like that? I don’t remember.” 

“And here I thought I had too much to drink.” Jon chuckled. 

Jon readied himself for the day, cleaning himself up and changing into a new set of clothes. He went down to the yard to find Ghost again when he found himself surrounded by the northern men he insulted the night before. Jon signed deeply and looked around.

“Yes, my lords?”

“We wanted to take a good look at the bastard who fucked the mad queen,” one of them sneered. Jon felt himself bristle at the mention of Daenerys, but managed to keep his composure. 

“Also a traitor to the north when he bent his fuckin’ knees to her.”

“and you insulted the north, calling us cunts and cowards. That, we cannot let slide.”

Jon took a deep breath, calming himself. “What would you have me do, my lords?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do anything. We’ll do it for you.” 

Jon felt his arms being restrained. Some men were holding him while others readied their clubs that they somehow managed to hide from his view until now. _Fuck._ He cursed himself for being so naïve for thinking that his actions yesterday would go without consequences. _Northerners,_ Jon thought bitterly, _proudest of all of the seven fuckin’ kingdoms._ He struggled in vain to free himself, kicking and pushing against his captors. He heard Tormund hurry down the stairs, yelling, and saw some freefolk approach to interfere. Distracted, Jon felt the blow to his head before he saw it.

Pain exploded in his head. He felt himself fall down to the ground but could not register what was happening around him. All he could hear were mumbled yells and shouts. As he tried to steady himself, he felt another surge of pain to his head and saw his life flash before his eyes. _Is this how I die?_ Jon thought. He saw himself stabbing Daenerys, experienced the sacking of King’s Landing, and Battle of Winterfell. He saw every major event in his life rush passed his eyes, re – living them vividly. _This is how I’m meant to die. Where I’m meant to be. A bastard boy without love or comfort._  


However, the images in his head went past his life, to the events of Tower of Joy, to his birth parents’ wedding. Then it went back all the way to Aegon’s conquest and the War for Dawn. He did not know how he knew to identify these events – he wasn’t there to see them, of course – but he knew with certainty exactly what they were. As he slowly pushed himself back up, he saw a familiar face, but with an unfamiliar smile. It was Bran’s face, twisted into a sinister smile that almost looked like someone had forcefully carved it into his face.

And Bran’s last words to him kept on ringing in his head. 

_You were exactly where you were meant to be._

He then realized the gravity of such an innocuous statement.

_Meant to go to Dragonstone to meet Daenerys._

_Meant to fall in love with her._

_Meant to isolate her with your struggle of your identity._

_Meant to drive her mad._

_Meant to kill her._

_Meant. To. Be._

“Oh Gods.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Daenerys Targaryen**

_All she could see was darkness._

_Endless sea of darkness. Alone._

_Is this what Jon had meant when he described death?_

_The thought of her previous lover should have sent pain, sorrow, or even rage through her body, but she could barely feel anything. She felt detached from all things except for being surrounded by darkness. It was as if she was slowly becoming one with the darkness, defusing into the endless void as she wandered._

_There truly is nothing after death, she thought._

_Suddenly, she saw a dim flicker of light off in the distance. Curious, she followed the light, albeit slowly and cautiously. As she got closer, the light suddenly went out and she was left to the darkness by herself again. Frustrated, she ran towards where the light had previously been, but there was nothing._

_There was another light, and she followed. Again, it was extinguished before she could reach it, and this time, she let out a frustrated growl. She felt like she was being played – being used._

_After all, was that not what her life amounted to? Being used since the beginning. To be sold off as a broodmare to Khal Drogo. To fall in love with Jon Snow and to abandon her war to help his. To be betrayed by men around her as they discarded all that she had done for them. To be stabbed by the only one she loved and trusted, to be cast away after her duty had been done._

_This time, she felt the white, hot rage exploding from her heart like dragon fire. She let out a roar, fists clenching in fury. She felt atop of Drogon again at King’s Landing, ready to rain blinding rage and righteous fury down on her enemies –_

_But no. This anger felt different. Back then, she had heard a small voice in the back of her head. Burn them all, it had said. The bells – oh god the bells – had amplified the whisper of madness hundred-fold, until she had to act, to do something so that the voice would just stop. The result, of course, was a genocide of an unfathomable scale._

_That was the result of her following. Listening to the small voice in her head so it would leave her alone. No. This time would be different. She was a dragon, not a sheep. If the lights wanted her to go somewhere, she would not follow. They would come to her, not the other way around._

_And the lights did indeed appear again, incrementally brighter every time. She did not budge, however, refusing to move from her place. She did begin to feel ever so slightly warmer every time she saw a light, and she felt as if darkness slowly receding back. This time a bright light shined nearby and she could feel the warmth emanating from it._

_Sudden pain jarred her from her stance, originating from the bottom of her left breast. She stumbled to the ground, struggling to breathe. At the same time, darkness rose around her, surrounding her like a whirlwind, blocking out any traces of light that had been there before. She felt herself being lowered into the ground, into nothingness, into the void –_

_An excruciatingly bright light, hotter and more brilliant than the sun, shot out from the above and cast away the darkness surrounding her. She reveled in the warmth that it gave, the life that it provided. She looked up to see that this light was no light, but fire. A continuous stream of white flame danced around her, defeating her enemy – this time, the darkness. She knew this flame well, as she had been with it ever since it had been made flesh._

_‘My child’, she smiled._

\-----

She gasped into existence, breathing greedily. She felt short of air, as if she did not have enough supply of it. She gulped for air again and again, panicking that if she stopped for a moment that she would never breathe again. Slowly, as she came to her senses, she realized that she was lying on a ceremonial bed, naked as an infant and surrounded by fire. She looked around to see a multitude of Red Priests and Priestesses surrounding her, all gazing at her in awe as if they were looking at a god. She swallowed nervously, trying to gather herself under the intensity of the looks. 

“Your grace, welcome back,” Daenerys looked around to see High Priestess Kinvara in front of her, bowing down to show her respect.

“Where – where are we?” Daenerys blurted out. While her breathing had calmed down, she was now experiencing a splitting headache. She tried to remember what had happened. Slowly, a fog around her head lifted and the memories started to rush back to her.

_The bells ringing in thousand different places –_

_The streets of King’s Landing Burning down –_

_Her seeing and touching the Iron Throne for the first time –_

_Jon Snow kissing her –_

_Jon Snow **stabbing** her –_

“Breathe, your grace,” Kinvara approached her with a blanket and wrapped it around her, providing some semblance of comfort. Daenerys clutched the blanket and focused on her breathing once more. A few moments passed before she composed herself and asked the lingering question on her mind.

“I was stabbed and killed. How have I come back to life? Is this the work of the same deity that brought Jon Snow back to life?"

“You were brought back by the will of Lord of Light. He has plans for you still.” Kinvara slowly answered.

_Plans for me,_ Daenerys scoffed. _My fate was to unit the seven kingdoms and rule. It was within my grasp before it was snatched from me. What use do I have now to the world?_

“I thought your. . . Lord of Light only concerned himself with the Long Night and the battle against the Night King. He was defeated. What more plans could your god possibly have for me?”

Kinvara closed her eyes, lost in thought for a moment. She raised her hands to dismiss the circle of priests and priestesses surrounding them. When they were finally alone, she looked and Daenerys and spoke so softly that it was barely a whisper. 

“The Lord of Light. . . made a grave mistake in underestimating his enemies. He focused on the wrong threat, his old enemy, while a parasite festered right under his nose.”

Disbelieving, Daenerys could not help a mirthless laughter escaping her. “Your god made a mistake? It seems as if your god is not so godly after all.”

“Your grace, the Lord of Light –”

“No. I do not wish to hear this folly any longer. I suppose I can give thanks to your god for bringing me back to life, although I have my doubts about a god that makes such grave mistakes as you put it. If you would please bring me my clothes then I shall be on my way out.” Daenerys stood up and glared at the High Priestess, unimpressed more than ever with this nonsense. 

She could see that Kinvara was fuming inside, gritting her teeth at the insults thrown at her god. She cast her eyes to the ground, however, withholding her anger.

“Where will you go, your grace?”

“I do not know,” Daenerys responded. “Perhaps I shall return to Mereen to continue my rule there. I may even raise an army from it to conquer Westeros once more. Would it not be a feat not found in history? To conquer the seven kingdoms within a span of few months?” 

“You are in Volantis, your grace. There is no way for you to travel to Mereen quickly, especially in the state you are in.” 

There was something in Kinvara’s face that was off, as if she was hiding something grave. Daenerys narrowed her eyes and frowned at the priestess. 

“If I ride on Drogon, I should be able to reach Mereen in less than three days.”

Kinvara hesitated, as if knowing whatever she was going to say might end up being the last thing she would say alive.  
“Your grace. . . your dragon is no longer of this world.”

Daenerys felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She dropped to her knees, blinking her tears back. She could not think straight and stared dumbly at the floor.

“It was its sacrifice that brought you back to this world,” Kinvara continued. This caught Daenerys’s attention and she slowly stood back up.

“Sacrifice? I do not remember your god needing any sacrifice to bring back the dead.” Her tone was laced with acid and hatred. How dare they murder my child to merely entertain their despicable god?

Kinvara flinched before responding. “He usually does not, but your death was a special one. One meant to destroy your very existence rather than simply to end your life. We attempted other sacrifices to bring you back –”

“Other sacrifices? What exactly do you mean by that?” Her rage was palpable, begging to be released and bring fire and blood to the utter injustice that she was hearing from the priestess.

“Your grace, you must understand,” Kinvara swallowed nervously. “Those slaves’ lives are meaningless compared to your life who is so important to the plans of Lord of Light.”

Unable to hear anymore, Daenerys lunged at the high priestess. As soon as she had straddled her, fist raised to pummel her, the guards poured out through the door and restrained her. She screamed, kicked, and scratched, but she could not get free. Kinvara picked herself up before kneeling to come to eye level with Daenerys.

“ _You murdered my child!_ ” Daenerys spat at the high priestess, satisfied to see the shock and disgust as she furiously wiped her face. 

“We did no such thing. It was a voluntary action from your dragon. We could not – ” 

“You also killed slaves. You must have forgotten I was called _the Breaker of Chains_ ,” Daenerys snarled. “I fought to free the slaves, not to sacrifice them.”

“A noble goal indeed, your grace.” Kinvara retorted. “One you cannot achieve unless you are _alive_ , might I remind you.” The high priestess stood up and glared at her. “I have told you before. You are Azor Ahai, the Prince that was Promised. The Champion of Lord of Light. You must finish what the Lord of Light has set out for you.”

Daenerys could not stop a bitter laugh from escaping. “Another one of your priestesses thought another, Jon Snow, was the prince that was promised. And he killed me. Was that one of the mistakes that your god made as well?” Kinvara paled at the mention of her god making a mistake in front of other believers, but Daenerys did not care. _Let them hear about the mistakes that their god has made. Let them be free from gods who meddle with human lives._

“Melisandre of Asshai was a fool,” Kinvara spat out. “Her desire – her ambition – to bring the end to the Long Night blinded her in seeing what the Lord of Light intended for her. Do not compare me to the heretic that played a role in your demise.”

Daenerys glared Kinvara with fury. “She played no part in my death. She died after the Battle of Winterfell and the Night King fell.”

“She went over to Westeros, convinced that she would be the one to find Azor Ahai and bring victory for Lord of Light. Her blind ambition and desire for glory allowed her to be tricked and used as a pawn of the parasite. I suppose she did play a part in the Night King’s end, but she committed an offense so great that she will face her Long Night for all eternity.”

“What offense did she commit? And what is this parasite that you continue to speak of?” Daenery’s anger had simmered down, but it still remained underneath her cool tone. Kinvara wisely remained a good distance away but held her gaze. 

“I do not know for certain the true nature of the vile thing. All I know is that this parasite went against both the Lord of Light and the Great Other, obtaining power while they were too preoccupied with their struggle. With that power, he raised his own champion to go against both gods. He is not a god, but he believes that he can reign over the realm of both living and the dead by killing both the Lord of Light and the Great Other.”

Daenerys closed her eyes and sighed. _These prophecies and riddles grow tiresome. I should not listen to this foolishness any longer._ “You have not answered what offense Melisandre committed, or how she played a role in my death.”

Kinvara huffed as if speaking to a child. “Do you not see, your grace? When this parasite’s champion had died, she brought him back to life, foolishly thinking that it was Azor Ahai she was saving.”

Daenerys was flabbergasted. Her eyes went wide and her jaws dropped in shock.

“That-that is impossible! How dare you try to trick me by using these lies! Jon Snow cared for me! _He loved me!_ ” Daenerys screamed and snarled, her emotions spilling over as she grit her teeth to prevent tears from falling. 

“I cannot speak for whether or not he loved or cared for you, your grace. That does not, however, change that fact that he was the one to kill you. His entire existence was meant to kill your very soul, and he very nearly succeeded.” Daenerys could see a slight hint of pity in the high priestess’s eyes, and it enraged her further. 

“ _Leave me be! Leave me be at once!_ ” She lashed out, full of pain and sorrow. Kinvara wavered, then ordered the guards to leave the room. Daenerys fell to the floor, weeping. Everything was catching up to her now, from her revival, Drogon’s death, and to Jon’s true nature. Was there any point in living anymore when everything she had known was a lie?

“You are in pain, but you must rise above it to fulfill your duty.” Kinvara looked solemnly at her.

“What is my duty now?” Daenerys whispered. “I’ve failed. I’ve gone mad and destroyed an entire city. They’ve surely labeled me a tyrant and a mad queen for what I’ve done. What could your god possibly have in store for me?”

“Your actions in the past few months cannot be held responsible against you,” Kinvara responded. Hearing Daenerys scoff at her words, the high priest looked intensely into her eyes, daring her to disagree. “The parasite managed to get a hold of your mind, driving you to make decisions that you would not normally make, for a singular purpose to destroy the Great Other’s champion and you within the matter of weeks.

“Did you not notice the voices in your head, driving you to make assumptions and haste decisions? Did you not notice how those who pledged to serve you gave up their loyalties so quickly? Did you not notice how quickly everything deteriorated after the Great Other’s champion perished?”

“My madness-”

Kinvara dismissed her with a swing of her arm, frustrated. “Do you, Daenerys Targaryen, truly believe that you would experience a fall from your sanity within weeks? What you’ve experienced is no illness of the mind, but a violation of will from the parasite.”

Daenerys failed to make any other retort, unable to take it all in. Kinvara continued as if she hadn’t noticed the state of shock into which Daenerys fell. 

“The Great Other’s champion was defeated not a month ago, yet visions show me that there are movements of his undead forces up in the north. He is actively searching for a new champion to take up his cause and will not rest until he does so. You must find him once he appears and destroy him again in the name of the Lord of Light.”

“You must also destroy the parasite’s champion, Jon Snow.”

\-----

Daenerys could not fall asleep that night. 

After her interaction with the high priestess, she commanded them to take her to see Drogon. The last image of her child had shaken her to the core.

_“You must remember, your grace. The sight. . . is not pleasing to the eye,” Kinvara had warned. Daenerys decidedly ignored her, hurrying out of the room to follow the guards leading them to her child. Why were the gods so cruel to have taken away all of her children before her? Daenerys’s heart fractured at the thought. With every step towards Drogon, her hatred towards the gods puppeteering her life burned stronger and brighter._

_When she finally saw the last of her children, she broke down once more. Losing all of her strength, she collapsed to her knees. The guards tried to help her back up, but she shook them off. Slowly, with endless tears streaming down her face, she crawled towards Drogon, reaching out to caress his still face._

_From the outside, it was as if her child was simply asleep, eyes closed and face resting on the ground. How many times had she seen it happen? Her stroking her child’s snout would be his favorite way to wake up after a nap, leaning into her touch, gently growling and nudging as he answered his mother’s call. Then he would fly to rid himself of the last bit of sleep remained, circling around the sky in complicated patterns. And she would watch him with a proud smile on her face._

__

__

_Yet when she felt Drogon’s face, she knew her child would never wake up. It was cold. Cold as ice. Her child, fire made flesh, was cold to the touch._

_She shattered._

_She screamed. She shrieked. She wailed a cry so hard that she retched._

_She cursed all men and gods for taking away her child._

_She clung to Drogon as if he were her life line, pressing herself against his face. She let out an incoherent sob, apologizing again and again for failing him._

_“Your dragon let you down here when it arrived,” – Daenerys could barely make out the high priestess’s words – “it was almost as if it knew that I could call you back from the dead with the Lord of Light’s will._

_“When I initially failed to bring you back, we tried other sacrifices, but none worked. It was only then that the dragon bent down near you, nuzzling you once before ripping out its heart out and placing it next to you. I prayed once more for the Lord of Light to bring you back, and the heart dissolved away to nothing. It was then that I knew you had returned to us. You were brought inside, your grace, for I knew that the dragon was important to you, and I did not want to bring you such great distress so soon after you woke up.”_

_Daenerys looked up to see the scar – oh the wretched gaping hole that would haunt her for days – on Drogon’s chest. She could only keen more, grieving and cursing herself for not being able to protect her child._

She was half led, half dragged to her room afterwards, not having the strength or the will to carry herself.

She knew that the flame she felt save her from the void was from her child – the lasting parting gift to her from her old life. She was now truly alone, having lost all her children, friends, and titles. Never had she felt so utterly alone, even when she was running from usurper’s spies or during first night of her marriage to Khal Drogo. 

She reached for her door only to find it locked. She realized that it was to prevent her from escaping during the dead of night and felt anger rise from her body.

_They may call me the Prince that was Promised, but I am a glorified slave, a pawn in this game that they wish to play._

_But I am a dragon. I refuse to follow any path that is not my own, most certainly not at the whims of these gods that have done nothing but cause misery in my life._

But she had no other help she could get, especially surrounded by those who were loyal the high priestess. Even if she wanted to simply leave and live a life on her own, those calling her the Prince that was Promised would not let her be.

What would she also do about Jon Snow? Despite his betrayal, him murdering her, she felt an inexplicable affection towards him. Did she love him? She did not know, as the mention of his name carried too much pain, sorrow, and grief with it. She did not, however, want to see him dead. Yet would she have a choice in the matter?

And what of the parasite that Kinvara continued to mention? If everything the high priestess had described were true, then it was an incredibly powerful and dangerous being. It had succeeded in driving out both herself and the Night King out of Westeros, meaning that it had, at least for now, wont the battle and was likely growing more powerful than ever. 

_A being that controls the mind. It is a repulsive thing. A purest form of slavery._

Could she leave everyone in Westeros under the chains of this being? The one that had orchestrated the demise of everyone she held dear, including her three children?

Including Missandei?

\-----

“I will play your Azor Ahai,” Daenerys declared, “but I have my own conditions.”

“Name them, and they shall be granted,” Kinvara answered with a gracious bow.

“You will stop your heinous practice of slavery in this religion-.” The high priestess’s smile faltered but Daenerys continued. “You will train me in the art of combat before I sail back to Westeros.” 

_Last time I needed to fight on my own, my sweet bear died protecting me._

“You will allow me to plan my own battles and leave me be once I reach Westeros. I will destroy this parasite for you, but I will do it on my own terms.”

Kinvara looked torn, clearly wanting to object to most of the points made. Realizing Daenerys would not compromise, however, the high priestess reluctantly agreed to the terms. 

_I shall be your prince, R’hllor, if only to fix my mistakes._


	3. Chapter 3

**Three-Eyed Raven**

_He saw his champion slowly approach R’hllor’s spawn, clearly torn between his duty – the sole reason for his existence – and the inexplicable attraction that he felt for her. What was it that could cause his champion – his own creation – to rebel against his purpose? It seemed that even the strict moral code he had carefully crafted into his champion was being chipped away by the overwhelming emotion humans called love. If he had waited a few more days – no, a few more hours – before committing to killing the Targaryen queen, he might have lost control over his champion to it._

_It was a curious thing, how love threatened to destroy paths set out for each humans by gods. If he could harness it in some way, it might finally solve the mystery of how to kill gods. However, he knew that was impossible, as love could not be controlled even by gods. It could be suggested, nudged, and even manipulated for an extended period of time, but it could not be controlled._

_He let the rest of the scene play out before him, wondering if he could have done anything differently to ensure his victory over both gods at least for the next ten thousand years. The cursed dragon had taken Daenerys Targaryen’s body to where R’hllor’s slaves would try to resurrect her. He knew it would be difficult, but it could be done. It would have been much better to burn her body to make certain that there was nothing to resurrect._

_It did not, however, change that fact that he was ahead of the gods in playing this game. R’hllor’s champion, if not dead, was significantly weakened, and the Great Other’s champion had perished. He himself was growing more powerful than ever, with more influence over the people that would strengthen him. Satisfied, he left the past and returned to the body of Bran the Broken._

“Your grace,” the Three-Eyed Raven looked up to see his hand approaching. “It is time for you to listen to the petitioners. As it has been for the last few months, they have fully filled up the quota for the day.”

The aftermath of the Battle of King’s Landing – or more aptly named _Massacre of King’s Landing_ – had left the smallfolk in abhorrent conditions. Hearing that the new king was just, the desperate smallfolk began to fill the Red Keep – or what remained of it – to petition for better lives. Both the petitions and the petitioners took many varieties of forms, as people raged, snarled, wept, and pleaded before him, all asking for just a little bit more that would provide them with hope in their bleak life after a dragon had torn down their livelihood.

And provide he did. He gave all who came before him that burning desire to continue striving for a better life – he gave them hope. To a woman who asked for more food so that her infant child could survive, he gave the knowledge to craft clothing so that she could exchange it for food. To brothers wanting to kill each other so they would inherit the small patch of land that was left over, he gifted rational thoughts and the desire to share the land so that their produce come next summer would be more fruitful. To each who came before him, he rewarded so that their livelihood would be much better than it was even before Daenerys Targaryen’s dragon flew over the city. Within a matter of weeks, King’s Landing begin to flourish again. Within months, the entire city was built back from the ground. Every day that passed, people sang of the just rule of Bran the Broken. 

And every day that passed, his control over the continent grew stronger. 

Every “gift” provided sowed a seed that slowly grew to take over the mind, granting him the control over the person. Eventually, he would be the undisputed ruler over all the Westerosi. People would live harmoniously without any conflicts, working together perfectly as if controlled by a singular entity. 

Not that he cared too much about the humans of Westeros. It was, however, much simpler to plan against the eventually push that would inevitably come, both from across the Narrow Sea and from the North, if he had full control over every living being on the continent. It would not do for him to lose after coming so close to defeating both R’hllor and the Great Other. He had to press his advantage, and press quickly.

At the thought of the two gods, the Three-Eyed Raven’s usual emotionless composure cracked. His hand gripped the side of his wheel chair and his mouth drew into a thin line as if remembering something distasteful. Lord Tyrion, ever so observant, glanced at him curiously but refrained from commenting. 

“It is a miracle that the city has regained its steps in such a short time, your grace,” Tyrion mentioned as Ser Podrick Payne began to push his wheelchair to the throne room. “I’ve my doubts despite my recommendation that you become king, but you have exceeded all of my wildest expectations.”

“I am glad to serve those who are in need, Lord Hand,” The Three-Eyed Raven replied curtly.

“Yet I have to wonder, your grace, about the way you rule,” Tyrion slowed down to a near halt, gazing at him intently. “How is it that when the smallfolk come to petition for their needs, they are somehow fully satisfied when they leave? What I have witnessed is not a work of a king, but of a god.”

_Astute to a fault,_ the Three-eyed Raven mused while signaling Ser Payne to stop. “Have you been drinking again, Lord Hand?”

“Your grace, this is no time for jokes – ”

“Lord Tyrion, why do you suppose I named you my hand all those months ago?”

“You told me so that I could spend the rest of my life fixing the mistakes I have made. I cannot do that if I do not know what you are doing.” Tyrion sighed in frustration. “As I have said, there is no doubt the realm is prospering like never before under your rule, but I have to know how you are doing that.”

“I am not a god, Lord Tyrion.” The Three-eyed Raven answered coolly. “I assure you that you do not need to worry about that.

“What you do need to worry about, however, is your drinking problem. You have been drinking excessively again, have you not?” _You nearly drank yourself out of my control before. I will not let it happen again._

“I have been drinking excessively my entire life, your grace. I do not see what the problem is.”

“You promised me sobriety, my Lord, when you became the hand. I will not repeat myself again. You will not serve me drunk.” The tone of his voice and the intensity of his gaze left no argument to be made. Tyrion squirmed under the attention before reluctantly nodding. Satisfied, the Three-eyed Raven leaned back on his chair and motioned his kingsguard to push him again.

His hand, however, did not seem satisfied. “You avoided my question. What kind of role are you playing in the lives of the smallfolk?”

The King gave a long sigh, frustrated beyond his wits. _I do not want to warp his mind; I do not need another Hodor in my hands._ He slowly reached into Lord Tyrion’s mind, staving off any of the mental fortitudes that his hand had built ever since he had started to suspect his king of abusing his supernatural abilities. With some degree of difficulty, he was able to reach into the memories that had sparked Tyrion’s suspicions and erase it from existence. Lord Tyrion stumbled and fell to the ground, losing consciousness. _Would it be easier if I killed him? Perhaps I should look into the future to see if that is a possibility._

The Three-eyed raven and his kingsguard left the hand lying on the floor and made their way to the throne room, where as his hand had reported, the line of the smallfolk waiting to see their king made its way out of the room. The first petitioner had stepped up and begun talking when he felt his tight control over his champion’s will falter.

It was a jarring experience accompanied by a great amount of pain. It was as if part of his head was being carved out by a butcher’s knife. He had only experienced this once before when his champion had been stabbed by the agents manipulated by R’hllor, igniting their burning hatred against the wildings. He clutched his head and grimaced in pain, startling everyone in the room.

“…Your grace, are you not feeling too well?” Ser Brienne stepped up from the side, and the petitioner gazed at him from his eyes with concern. 

_No. I will not lose my champion again to either of those demons._

_What must I do to stop this?_

_Sansa. Call Jon back to Winterfell. I need him safe and away from the Wall._

He quickly dismissed everyone from the room much to the petitioners’ dismay and quickly had his kingsguard escort him back to his chambers. He would need to focus to quickly remedy the situation. 

\-----

His attempt was a complete and utter failure. Not only had his attempts to call him back, both by vision and by Sansa’s letter, been rebuffed by one of his enemies, the Great Other, but his champion had discovered his connection back to him, the Three-eyed Raven. He knew that a counterattack to his plan had been coming, but he did not realize it would come so swiftly. If the Great Other had made a move, it was likely that R’hllor would also make his.

He knew his mistake. He had pressed too far, sending Jon to the Wall in hopes that he would be able to discover where the Great Other would be. While R’hllor hid himself very carefully in various different forms, the Great Other had always resided in the Land of Always Winter, and he had thought to press his advantage while the Great Other had no champion. 

He still maintained the upper hand, however. He did not need a champion to defeat another champion, as evident in Arya Stark killing the Night King. In fact, he had hosts of candidates that he could replace Jon Snow with as his champion. It was a blow, but one from which he could recover. He also still controlled his champion, albeit with much less influence. 

He would have to be cautious, more so than he had been before, but he was ready to play the game once more: to end the pathetic existence of gods in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I found myself a beta, but the person doesn't want to be named. But I thank you nonetheless for keeping me motivated to write.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writer here. Hope you guys enjoyed it.


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